Son of Magic

Chapter 22

Too much power suffocating him.

He felt as if stranded in quicksand, being dragged down into some other place—some different reality that even with all the experience he's had, he could have never imagined.

And at that moment he found himself longing for the long-forgotten cupboard under the stairs of Number 4 Privet Drive. He yearned for sanctuary, protection, and peace from it all—from this unsought change.

Who am I? Harry couldn't help but wonder, his thoughts gaining a hysterical edge to them. What am I?

He felt like himself enough, if well buried under everything different about him. He had the same thoughts, hopes, and fears he had before bonding with Excalibur. But then there was also everything else.

He simply didn't understand the entire implications of the transformation he'd undergone—was still going through.

What Harry did know was that he had to do something about it—now—before he lost his mind.

And that's why Harry found himself visiting his old cottage, sitting with his back leaning against the polished, wooden door and his knees drawn to his chest.

"You need to get yourself under control, Harry," was the first thing Death finally deigned to say, ever so bloody helpfully.

And Harry simply wasn't in the mood.

"Don't," Harry snapped, a few seconds away from giving in to the urge to place his head in his hands "This is enough of a fucking nightmare without having to endure your smart-ass comments," he grumbled moodily. "Be useful for once and tell me that you'll help."

Death stared at Harry, his azure eyes assessing him calculatingly through a lock of golden hair.

"You know what you have to do then," Death stated, causing Harry to bare his teeth and throw him an irritated glare.

"Do I know that I have to die? Yes, I'm fucking aware," he growled impatiently.

Death lowered his hood and stepped closer to the crouched wizard, concerned eyes taking in his trembling body and the apprehension in his emerald eyes, taking note of the way they kept flickering between green and gold.

Harry was on the verge of bursting, and Death didn't particularly want to see what would happen if he spontaneously decided to release the energy that so obviously wanted to break free. Not to mention that Harry's unbalanced emotional state wasn't exactly helping circumstances.

"It will be the last time," Death decided to clarify.

Harry had to understand—had to know that there would be no going back from this.

Death watched as Harry's glare dropped from his face, replaced by a resigned understanding.

Harry's eyes darted away from the beautiful features he was still getting used to, and fear and uncertainty filled him once more.

"What will I become?" he whispered with a broken voice.

Death pondered how to answer without frightening Harry—knowing that he didn't want to hear the straightforward answer.

"What you were always meant to be, Harry," he decided on.

Harry tightened his hold on his knees and chuckled hollowly, his eyes momentarily closing of their own accord.

"And what happens after?" he questioned tiredly.

Death sighed, his eyes wandering to the sword resting at Harry's feet.